Not exactly. When pieces of Tatu come off, for example Tatu fingernails, Tatu hair, etc, And they get covered in beer under the right conditions of the moon, they grow into full copies of Tatu. Which is how Louhi the Crone keeps growing new copies of Tatu's. About 2,500 years ago, there was a group of Shaman's that would have their apprentices grow Tatus from Tatu clippings as part of their training, that moved into the Ural region. Tatu copies become fully grown pretty quickly if they are fed enough beer, and only speak Tatuian until they have had enough beer to learn other languages. Around 38 copies of Tatu were known to be created by those Shamans, and those Tatus traveled all around from that region, some of them ending up in mostly imaginary places like Finland, or Estonia, and in some of the realms that were mostly real and only a little imaginary, like Hungary. Which is why the languages in those regions became so odd in common ways, due to the influence of the various partly grown Tatus conversing with the locals to get beer and influencing the linguistic development of those local languages with Tatuian grammer and linguistic affectations over the centuries.

Shiiiit... I hope my wife doesn't find these sites

Come on guys. Don't let this thread die. It's the best thread on here.

Come on guys. Don't let this thread die. It's the best thread on here.

As I was strolling downstairs, to prepare my morning coffee. I noticed something odd. Someone had visited my kitchen in the middle of the night, made himself a toasted brie & honey sandwish, sprinkled with walnuts and thyme. Also, half my bottle of absolut vodka was empty. Not saying it was Tatu... But was it?

This thread is just about dead it seems. RIP

Tatu says, 'Believe in yourself, even when no one else will.' No wait, that was Bigfoot. Unlike Bigfoot, Tatu does not exist.

Great threads don't die, they just fade away...

I was pouring myself a martini in my barn office, and Tatu suddenly appeared. 'Tatu,' I said, 'What are you doing here?' 'I did not come to you, you came to me,' he replied. I handed him the martini, poured myself another, and asked him what he meant. 'More and more of your world has ceased to exist lately, folding time and space into the ley lines and cracks between universes,' he began to explain, 'Journalism has ceased to exist. Government leaders you can trust have ceased to exist. Integrity in academia has ceased to exist. Communities that stand together in times of crisis have ceased to exist.' And then he put his hand on my shoulder, and looked at me sadly and said, 'For the past few months, you have lived in this barn office, not training, working on COVID19 solutions for your government, while on Facebook people argue back and forth, as you have watched your friends return to training, and continued this routine, you have ceased to exist.' 'Will I ever exist again?' I asked, realizing the truth of his words. 'I don't know. But, I can tell you that you can only cease to exist for so long, before you can never exist again,' he replied. And then he helped himself to a box of cigars from my desk, and a bottle of my whiskey and disappeared. Which left me thinking...maybe it's time for me to start existing again.

Why does he always snatch the whiskey and cigars? Lol